Awaiting
by inevitablewebreathe
Summary: In memory of tulips and springtime.


Holland knocked on the door sharply for the second time in a row, wondering why he hadn't gotten any response yet. To all appearances it seemed like Canada was home at the moment. After raising his hand to knock once more, he finally he heard a quiet exclamation of "Coming!" from inside the house before the door opened abruptly and a flustered, half-asleep man appeared before him. His rumpled baggy sweater and ill-fitting jeans belied the reason for his slow response without him needing to say anything.

"I'm so sorry, you see, so I was sleeping, and then there was this—oh, Holland!" said Canada, stopping for a moment to actually process the situation. He smiled. "It's been so long since I've seen you around here."

"Hello, Canada," he responded, his expression neutral as usual but his tone friendly.

"You remembered," Canada said earnestly, glad to see an old friend. Worried he was being awkward he followed it up with, "So many seem to forget whom I am, you know? So thanks." Truthfully, his explanation had just made the atmosphere even more awkward. He couldn't help it really, that was just him. And he _was_ glad.

Holland shifted slightly, tapping one boot against another by force of habit, thinking of anything to say in response. "Well," he said, meeting Canada's gaze again, "I don't suppose it would be right to forget the name of the man you're bringing flowers to."

Canada smiled brightly as his sleepy haze finally dispelled and he realized it was already that time of year again. "Perhaps not. But really, thank you."

Holland couldn't help but smile slightly in return. After a momentary pause, he abruptly began feeling around the many pockets in his longcoat. "Ah, here they are," he said, pulling out a few loose bulbs from his pocket, grabbing Canada's hand and placing them in it. "They should be dropping off the crates shortly, but I wanted to bring the first ones to you myself."

Canada looked down at his now full hands thoughtfully. Honestly Holland wasn't quite sure what he should do, whether to make a retreat, say something topical about the weather, or keep standing there awkwardly with his friend who didn't seem intent on forming any kind of response. Seriously, no matter how much you liked a guy you might never understand him.

Holland's thoughts were interrupted by Canada's abrupt request.

"Hey Holland," he said, tugging lightly on his sleeve with his free hand, "Help me plant them?"

"Okay."

_I'd like that._

Holland crouched on his knees, leaning over the salvaged railways ties that boxed in Canada's plot of soil. Holland hadn't dug up a garden with his own hands in a long time, but it felt good to be working in the earth, even for a moment. Seeing Canada calmly work away at the dirt with his spade made him wonder if this was why he asked him. It was soothing, uncomplicated.

"We've just got the five now, right?" Canada asked, setting down his spade. Holland gave him a little nod. 

"I know five isn't enough for a garden, but the rest—"

"No, five is a good start," Canada said, picking up one of the bulbs sitting between them and burying it deep in the dirt. "Five is just right, to begin with." Holland picked up another of the bulbs and planted it in one of the holes he dug, packing the earth tightly on top. In less than a minute all five were resting hidden beneath the earth, preparing to take root and waiting for the warmth that would be a long time in coming.

Holland drew a deep breath and looked around, taking in the reds and oranges of the trees in the backyard, the browned fallen leaves piled in one corner, the sharpness of the cool breeze. "It's beautiful here," he said.

"Hmmm," Canada responded ambiguously, sitting back on his heels. "It's too early to be wishing for it, but I can't wait to see spring again. Especially with the tulips, it's always so beautiful to see them in bloom. And everyone celebrating, through the city, surrounded by thousands of flowers. You know, I think…for me, it's those beautiful sorts of moments that make having lived so long worthwhile."

"You're hardly old yet, little brother," Holland replied, looking down at him.

"Oh come on, I might not compare to most of you but you could still give me a little credit."

"Nah, you're still too young to be world-weary yet."

Canada just smiled to himself. "Don't worry, I think it's only the coming winter getting to me." He stood up at last, wiping the dirt off his hands. "Do you want to come in for some cider or something?" he asked, nodding towards the house.

"No thanks," Holland responded. "This was a bit unplanned actually. I ought to be getting back." In the background he heard a noisy truck slowly pulling up along the quiet street. "And I expect that's the delivery. You might want to sort that out or something."

"Okay," Canada said, taking Holland's hand, "But next time you drop by, okay? Maybe?"

"Yeah," Holland replied. "Maybe then." He shook Canada's hand once before letting go and turned to walk up the street, headed towards the nearest bus stop a few blocks away. As he walked he pulled out his pipe and lit it, slowly inhaling the sweet smoky flavour, enjoying both the initial rush and following calm it brought him. He didn't look back, but he suspected if he did, Canada would still be there to wave him on his way. He was content with that.


End file.
